The Shopping Trip
by MLaw
Summary: Illya makes some decisions about food shopping, and gets a surprise... Originally posted for the picfic Tuesday challenge on section7mfu, Live Journal. The prompt was a black and white photo of a 1960's era food store..


Illya had finally tired of returning home to empty cupboards after a mission. Take-away food was not always an option at three in the morning, nor was the commissary open for anything but coffee.* The frugal Russian broke down and the next day, decided it was time to go to a local grocer for some basic supplies.

He carried a small canvas sack with him, intending to put his groceries in it rather than a paper bag that would most likely tear.

As he walked up and down the aisles, he was again amazed at the amount of food products available in one shop, much less seeing the shelves fully stocked. His experience with State run stores back in the Soviet Union was that of long lines and near empty shelves, with the products and produce being sub-standard.

He grabbed a shopping basket, tossing in some cans of Campbells chicken noodle soup, cheese, crackers, bread, orange juice, butter, covering most of the basics. He then went to the meat aisle, picking up a package of chicken parts. The vegetable aisle was next, where he loaded up on a bag of potatoes... realizing he had too much for the basket; he retrieved a shopping cart; tossing everything in it, plus a head of cabbage, tomatoes, and onions.

He snapped his fingers, heading back to the dairy aisle, getting a quart of milk and a container of sour cream as he suddenly decided he would try his hand at making borscht. Though his cooking skills were lacking since he'd arrived in America and he needed to hone them just a bit.

The UNCLE agent stood patiently as the cashier, a young freckle-faced girl wearing a smock rang the items up for him, and as the bell dinged with the final total, Illya was wide-eyed. The total was a bit of a shock him, coming just under just under twenty dollars, and this for just basics in his opinion.

"Is that total correct?" He asked. The chicken was only .29 per pound, the Campbells' soup was on sale...6 cans for .89. The Cheerios were .25, eggs .50 for a dozen...the bottle of milk only .35, the bread .22. He quickly did the math in his head and realized the total was correct.

Illya apologized, deciding to put most of it back, not because he was being a penny pincher he told himself, though Napoleon often called him cheap, but because, in his enthusiasm, being surrounded by so much bounty, he had just selected too much food...he rationalized if he were called away on an assignment, much of it would most likely spoil. He was being pragmatic, not cheap...he told himself.

Wasting food would not do. He kept the canned soup, cheese, potatoes, onions, the cereal, milk, the loaf of bread, a stick of butter, as well as loose tea and a small jar of raspberry jam. This was more than he had in his larder back home in Moskva, and there was no need for more than that.

As he began bagging up the groceries he noticed a man dressed in a dark suit and thought that odd for some reason...though men, just as women needed to shop for victuals but to do so clothed in a dress suit struck him as being out of place. He himself was dressed casually, wearing a pair of jeans and a tee- shirt...though he was wearing a jacket to hide the fact he was wearing his shoulder holster with UNCLE his Special.

The rest of the customers finished their checkout and left, and just as Illya lifted his sack of groceries to do so himself, the remaining man in the dark suit moved quickly toward the cashiers...his face covered by a stocking, and he was holding a pistol in his hand.

"This is a stickup," he growled. "Give me all the money in the cash registers, and you blondie give me your wallet, now!"

"Excuse me?" Illya said calmly. "I do not think you should be doing this. If you are robbing this place to buy food...there is the Bowery Mission that can help you instead of succumbing to a life of crime."

"Shut your mouth or I'll use this gun."

"I do not think so," Illya smirked.

"Whadda ya mean?"

"Your safety is on."

"Huh?"

As the would-be robber looked at his gun, Illya moved into action and hurling himself at the man and tackling him to the floor. They wrestled for a few moments, fighting for control of the pistol.

Illya finally wrenched it from the man's hand, turning it on him.

"I think it is time for you to leave," Illya whispered. "Go to the Mission for help, before you get yourself killed."

"Thanks Mister...and sorry. I lost my job and needed money to feed my family. I'll do that," he stuttered, as Illya helped him to his feet. He turned to the cashiers, apologizing before he ran out the door.

The young women were shaken but unhurt, and when their manager arrived on the scene the man was so grateful that he insisted the Russian take the rest of the groceries he wanted to put back.

Illya protested, but finally surrendered as the manager and the cashiers insisted he take the food.

As he left , now with several sack of groceries, he thought about the man he'd stopped from robbing the store, and wondered what the average income was here in New York...how did families with children afford to pay? The food was bountiful, but costly in his estimation. Here a man had lost his job and was resorting to crime to make ends meet...

Having suggested he go to the Bowery Mission where those in need received help, Illya pondered if there were other such places in the city and how many people needed them.

This incident showed Illya Kuryakin that America was not the decadent place he had been told it was back in Moskva. Not everyone here was a member of the bourgeoisie, and wealthy. This country had it's poor as well...

Though he was going home with an abundance of groceries, Illya decided it was still cheaper for him to eat out...as the cost of a hamburger already prepared was only twenty cents, and his Chinese take-away was most reasonable and it also eliminated preparation time. He could get a large order of Chop Suey for $1.75 and it would actually be enough for several meals...

Illya made up his mind to stick to keeping a few non-perishables in his kitchen, but ordering in or eating out was the better route for him as an agent. He was amazed to have such thoughts, as when he was back in the Soviet Union, he was always desperate to have enough to eat. Though unlike the man in the grocery story, he never resorted to a life of crime in order to eat.

He had been in America only a short time, and though many of the things he had been told about the country proved false, there were still things that puzzled him. The next time he had a few days off, he would do more investigating and see how others lived in and outside the city.

In the meantime he would enjoy his food, and get to try his hand at making that borscht after all...

.

*author's note: Illya lived in England for 3 years where it's called take-away instead of take out...and in the 1960s home delivery was not a common thing as it is today.


End file.
